If I knew anything inside
the first minute of your breath
behind the backs of your teeth where
you lie to yourself in the undercarriage of night,
I might swallow the ash of your darkening lovers.
You hold yourself in wait for that morning
when the rise of the sun will bleach your name
from your body. In the paler lights,
it’s you who shines yellow as
It must get better than this
escapes to curdle in the stomach
of our voices. I see
I sleep next to a divot in the fields
of blackness—my eyes
break even as you find my shoulder with your tears
and comfort yourself as your might
in the arms of a god who listens to prayers
but has no reply.